The last turned back, he saw another opening, evidently leading upward.
"This must lead to the open air—" he began, when a grinding of stone caught his ears. In a twinkle a veritable shower of rocks came down around his head. He was knocked flat and almost covered.
For fully ten minutes he lay gasping for breath. The blood was flowing from a wound on his cheek, and it was a wonder that he had not been killed.
"In the future I'll have more care," he groaned, as, throwing first one stone and then another aside, he sat up. The falling of the stones had been followed by some dirt, and now a regular landslide came after, burying him up to the armpits.
"Planted," was the single word which issued from his lips. He was not seriously hurt, and was half inclined to laugh at his predicament. Still, on the whole, it was no laughing matter, and Pawnee Brown lost no time in trying to dig himself free.
The stones and dirt were wedged tightly about his legs, and not wishing to run the risk of a broken or twisted ankle, the scout worked with care, all the time wondering if Dick Arbuckle was back, and never once dreaming of the peril the poor lad was encountering. The rain was soaking through the ceiling of the cavern, and the situation was far from a comfortable one.
At last he was free again, and striking a match, he hunted up the lantern and lit it once more.
The opening to the inner cave was now large enough to pass through with ease, and making sure of his footing, the scout moved forward, straining his eyes eagerly for some sign of an egress to the outer world.
Presently he saw a number of straggly things dangling downward from the rocks and soil overhead.
They were the bottom roots of some great tree standing fifteen or twenty feet above.